knocked the wind out of my soul [open]

[postictal]

Who: Tim Wright and oh god not another event log
Where: Anywhere
When: September 18th - 22nd
Rating: PG-13
Summary: Between a trip to the Mirrorside and a visit to the Core, Wonderland was playing havoc.
The Story:

[ deeper and deeper we go ]
[ where there is no light ]

[ you are d̷͚̪̱i̶͔̙̭s̵̼̻̘t̴̰̩͜ọ̴̩̼ŗ̴͉̞t̷̜̳̼ḙ̴̦̤d̴͖͙ͅ ]

Comments

[choosetruth]

"He wasn't even armed." Because it's a mental hospital, George. Most mental hospitals don't need their workers to carry guns. She wrinkles her nose and starts moving back the way she came. No, she couldn't wait. Because being here was already making her feel like setting everything on fire before they started trying to convince her that Shaun isn't real. No, she couldn't wait.

"It can't go on forever. These rift events only stretch out for a few yards. If we go far enough in any direction, we should make it out."

[postictal]

"No, because he was a doctor, not a security guard," says Tim, his tone landing somewhere between exasperated and incredulous. Not that he hasn't learned why she would assume people would be carrying those sorts of weapons - CDC and all - but the fact that this is clearly a product of a time even before his own might've been a pretty decent indication that this was not the same kind of building she thought it was.

There's the clatter of footsteps down white-tiled halls, shouts growing closer. He cranes his neck only briefly before making that snap decision.

"Fine. So let's pick a direction and go before they find us."

[choosetruth]

"I'm just saying, he clearly wasn't equipped to deal with me." Apparently they weren't equipped to deal with Tim either. She's not complaining.

She points away from the shouts. "Right. I vote that way." There might still be people, but there'd probably be fewer and maybe they'd be too surprised to stop them. And they probably don't have to go very far.

[postictal]

Either they had a fabricated history of Tim being a generally pretty docile patient, or his cooperation was enough to lower their guard. Whichever it is, he's not complaining. One glance back in the direction from which he came compared to from where George came, and their options are pretty limited. He nods shortly.

"I'm sold."

And starts sprinting without a second thought.

[choosetruth]

Georgia's in good shape. She's not sprinting because she knows if she sprinted, she'd outpace Tim before too long. She refuses to do that. They're getting out of this shithole.

As they make their way down the hall, a doctor turns the corner and sees them, her eyes widening in surprise.

"Keep running!" George shouts.

[postictal]

Maybe if he weren't already cough-hacking his lungs up from the effort to keep up this pace - his respiratory system has never been fond of him, and the chain-smoking certainly didn't help - he would've snapped that her advice is so very helpful, because he was really thinking of slowing down right about now.

Right now, he's lucky he can still find the breath to continue. There's a branch diverting from the main artery they're tearing through now; he catches the corner with one hand and skids into it. It terminates in a door.

Maybe it's a way out. Maybe it's a dead end. Given the way that they're being pursued from all angles, do they really have a choice?

"Through - " he wheezes between gritted teeth. "Now!"

[choosetruth]

One of these days she's going to fucking make him start working out. She's always been in favor of being healthy enough to run for your life, and even if his lungs will keep him from being a marathon runner, he can still be stronger.

And that's a good thing to dwell on later, cause there's a door and if it's not their salvation it's their doom. She doesn't know if she can last here for a whole hour. She doesn't know if she's strong enough to go back.

She slams through the door and stumbles into the familiar Wonderland hallways. She's not in hospital whites anymore, but her usual comfortable black clothes. She's got the sunglasses she both doesn't need and can't function without. She has shoes. She has her gun and her cameras. She's herself.

She exhales, bracing herself against the wall, and looks over to check on Tim.

[postictal]

The hope he'd been holding to pulls through. The door slams behind them, and the cling of white pajamas falls away to the nondescript shirt and jeans he usually wears. No scalpels buried in his pockets - just a lighter and a phone and a wallet and a flip-knife, and Tim breathes out, head thumping back against the wall in telegraphed relief.

"Thank god," he mutters. Almost immediately, he glances at George. "You okay?"

[choosetruth]

He made it out. Good. George straightens as she catches her breath, the panic from before melting away now that she has all her familiar armor back on. It's not gone. But she knows how to hide it. "I need to find Shaun."

She'll be okay once she's seen him.

[postictal]

"Yeah." After hearing something like that, it wouldn't surprise him that she does. Honestly, he thinks he needs a couple hours of just - some external stabilizing influence to remind him that it wasn't real. That none of it was.

He eyes the door behind them as his heart finally starts to slow.

"Go find him. I'll put up a...sign or something, I guess. Just so no one else walks in here."

[choosetruth]

She nods, straightening, and turns to walk down the hallway, then hesitates, glancing back at Tim.

"Are... you okay?"

Sometimes it's hard to remember to care about people outside of the circle she and Shaun have made for themselves. That doesn't mean it's not important, and as desperate as she is to find Shaun, she knows she isn't the only one this was hard on.

[postictal]

If he's surprised by the question, it only shows briefly - in the lift of an eyebrow, the stillness that arrests his posture for half a second at the most.

He certainly hadn't expected that. Maybe that's just her way of issuing thanks.

"I'm fine," he says. The words are almost wry, and one corner of his mouth twitches. "Real hospitals aren't like that."

[choosetruth]

"Same with real CDC labs." She dips her head, a half nod. "Thanks."

Then she's gone. She doesn't know if he really is fine. She sort of doubts it. She sure as fuck isn't. But they made it out. That's fine enough for now.

[postictal]

Thanks.

She's the one that was most proficient at getting them out, but he can't exactly fault her for assuming he had some kind of...vague hand in it. Maybe it means something that she stuck around for as long as she did at all.

It's not his job to think too deeply into it. So he doesn't.

He starts looking for a sign.